Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived
by Kimberly21570
Summary: In this sequel to my Otalia Fic "Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows," which featured several extended cameo appearances by Lianca, it's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia Spencer-Rivera, Lena and Bianca Montgomery-Kundera, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…
1. Chapter 1: Moonlight and Promises

Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Chapter 1—Moonlight and Promises

Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Author: Kimberly21570

Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children

Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca

Disclaimers and other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, Natalia and Rafe Rivera, Joshua Lewis, and Maureen Reardon are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Jennifer and Tracy Jackson-Morgan and their sons, Jacob and Dylan are the property of this author, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, or any other entity. With the exception of the farmhouse and the Beacon, the settings, dialogue, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.

Thank you, as always, to my pal, MoniRod for the edit. You are awesome, and I appreciate you more than you know.

Rating: Chapter 1 is rated PG, though this story will eventually reach NC-17.

Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…

I started this story because… well, apparently I can't stand to have only _one_ major serial fan fiction going at a time. I finished my ongoing Lianca fic, _Restoration_, last year, and ever since, I've been itching to write more about Lianca and their family. Also, this story has been calling to me for more than two years now, and I finally feel as though I have enough of a handle on it to begin posting. For those of you who are following my ongoing Otalia fic, _Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows,_ rest assured, this does not mean that I will be neglecting that story. If anything, it means I'll be working harder on it, as there are plot points in this story that haven't been revealed in _Confessions…_ yet. As such, I'll have to stagger updates between _Snapshots…_ and _Confessions…_, but I promise, both stories will move forward.

Much of this story will be told via flashbacks, and it will jump back and forth in time, so pay particular attention to the dates and settings. Some chapters will be brief, as they will contain "Snapshots" from the lives of Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and my original characters, Jen and Tracy (from_ Confessions…_), as well as from the lives of their children. Other chapters will be rather lengthy, as they will contain a series of flashbacks, interwoven with present day festivities.

Anyway, much thanks in advance for your interest. I look forward to any and all feedback. Here goes… Hope you all enjoy!

K

Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Copyright September 2012

"You don't need to promise me the moon and the stars. Just promise me you will stand under them with me forever."

— Anonymous

Chapter 1—Moonlight and Promises:

_Emma's Bedroom, the Farmhouse of Love—Monday, June 11, 2029, 11:59 p.m. Central Daylight Time_

"What are you doing here?" Emma Spencer's eyes were wide, and she whispered with urgency as her betrothed clambered through her second-story bedroom window. She didn't even want to know how her intended had managed to scale the side of the old farmhouse she had affectionately called home for more than twenty years.

A slight tilt of the head sent a tuft of dark curls into motion, and a single, practiced flip of the neck brushed them back into submission. The familiar gesture caused a visceral reaction, deep in Emma's body. She loved that mop of wild curls, and she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through it right then and there.

"I just came to collect a goodnight kiss from my blushing bride." The voice was husky, almost seductive, and Emma was torn between self-indulgence… and self-preservation. It was almost midnight, on the eve of their long-awaited wedding, and she knew her adoptive mother, Natalia, would have an absolute fit if she found the two of them together. But the facts mattered little, as Emma gazed at her love in the moonlight.

Charged with electricity, the air crackled between them. Unable to resist that magnetic pull—the one that had tethered the two of them together for as long as she could remember, Emma inched closer. "You've already had your goodnight kiss," she reminded. "Several of them, in fact, if memory serves."

A soft smile emerged, and coal black eyes twinkled in the moonlight. "You know I always miss you the moment we say goodnight."

Emma's heart fluttered, as her breath caught in her chest. She had heard those words so often over the years, and still, they had the same affect, every single time. "Always my romantic charmer," she murmured. The depth of her affection was evident in her tone, as her fingertips brushed against a cheek. A hand caught hers, lips brushing against her palm. Emma sighed contentedly, her eyes filled with adoration. How on earth had she resisted so long?

And then her expression turned serious. "You know Mama's gonna kick both our asses, if she finds you up here."

"Oh, please, your parents were going at it five minutes before their own wedding," came the dismissive retort. "We all heard them."

"Hell, the entire island of San Cristobel heard them," Emma laughed. Not that either of them would have known what that was about back then. They had both been far too young. "But that won't stop Mama from getting pissed if she finds you up here."

Dimples bloomed, as a roguish smile teased at the corners of those lips Emma so loved to kiss. "C'mon, Em, just five minutes?" her future spouse cajoled.

"No!" Emma's teal-blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight as it trickled through her open window. She pushed a well-defined shoulder with playful insistence, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her fingertips. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to insist, "You have to go."

Dark eyes danced with mischief in response, and curtains rustled, as a perfectly chiseled body climbed through the open window. There was no mistaking that flicker in Emma's eyes. "Just one kiss, and then I promise I'll leave," her betrothed bargained. An eyebrow arched. "It's the least you can do, after making me wait so long."

Emma laughed softly. "You have a point." It had taken her years to admit the depth of her true feelings—and even longer to finally give in to them.

"So… I can come in for a kiss?"

"Seems to me you're already in," Emma observed.

A playful glance around, preceded another roguish grin. "Hmm… Seems I am." A few steps forward brought Emma into waiting arms, and then warm breath was whispering against her ear, "Now what about that kiss?"

The question was flirtatiously delivered, and Emma simply could not resist. In truth, she didn't really want to. But still, she was cautious. Pushing against the center of that well-defined chest, she met dark, smoldering eyes. "Just one," she firmly rationed. "And then you have to go, before Mama hears you."

"Just one. I promise," was the whispered reply, as their lips met in a slow, sensual kiss. It would be an easy promise to keep—Emma hadn't specified the duration of the kiss she had granted. And they had long-since perfected the art of kisses that lasted all night long.

* * *

_Eighteen Years Earlier…_

_The Farmhouse of Love—Monday, July 4, 2011, 11:59 a.m. Central Daylight Time_

"I'm gonna get you for that, Emma Spencer!" Dylan Morgan hollered his idle threat toward Emma as he chased her across the field from the pond toward her tree house. He was sopping wet from head to toe, thanks to an impromptu swim in the pond—compliments of Emma.

Even without the weight of wet clothing, Emma knew she could run faster than him—she was smaller, and moved more gracefully than his awkward ten-year-old legs could carry him. Still, she laughed, as she accelerated her speed. "Not if you can't catch me, Sucker!" she taunted.

"I'm tellin' your Ma you said 'suck'," he threatened, as the chase kicked into high gear. That was a four-letter word in both of their houses.

Their mothers, Olivia and Natalia Spencer-Rivera, and Jen and Tracy Jackson-Morgan, were inside, making last-minute preparations for the annual Bauer Barbecue, leaving Emma, Dylan, and Jacob to their own devices. And that, more often than not, spelled trouble—at least when it came to Emma and Dylan. What one wasn't busy contemplating, the other was already doing. It had been that way since they first became friends.

"I did not!" Emma protested. "I said 'Sucker'!" She emphasized the slight, but meaningful variance. "That's different. Besides, you said it too."

Energized by the chase, Emma reached the base of the huge oak tree where her brother Rafe and Uncle Josh had built her the biggest, fanciest tree house anyone had ever seen. She glanced over her shoulder, noting that Dylan was quickly gaining ground. He looked like a swamp creature, chasing after her, and she could hear his shoes squishing as he ran.

"No, it isn't!" he yelled through burning lungs, as he topped the hill and the base of the tree came into view.

Reaching up, Emma grasped the trigger to release the rope ladder. Immediately, it released, and tumbled down toward her.

She scaled the rungs quickly, reaching the platform with minimal effort. Turning, she paused to torment him a little more. "'Sides… if you tell my Ma, I'm gonna tell your Mamá I saw you playing with your wiener," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

Embarrassed, Dylan screeched, "You didn't see nothin', Emma Spencer!"

As Dylan was yelling at her, Emma began hoisting the ladder up behind her, to keep him at bay. But he had been faster than she anticipated, and he managed to grab the bottom rung before she could pull it out of his reach. The resistance proved to be too much for her, and she released her hold, landing him flat on his backside.

Grumbling under his breath, he shot her a disgruntled look. She laughed in response.

Despite Emma's attempt to pull the ladder from his grasp while he was down, Dylan managed to keep a hold on it. At that point though, he was too preoccupied with his current predicament to care. Muttering to himself, he surveyed the damage—sopping wet, and now covered in mud thanks to the loose dirt at the base of the old tree. His mother would have a conniption when she saw him—and there was nothing he could do to avoid it.

Emma giggled as she sat down on the platform, watching him. "I did too see it," she taunted. "Maury saw it too—in the pool yesterday." She remembered how she and her best friend, Maureen Reardon, had both giggled.

Dylan's emotions vacillated between mortification and anger. He rose to his feet, and quickly began climbing the ladder. Emma was on her feet the instant his foot hit the first rung. And she was barricaded inside by the time he was halfway up. It was then that she realized that climbing the tree wasn't the wisest move she could have made. But that's what people did in the movies, right? They always ran _up_ the stairs, not down, when they were running away from the bad guys. Go figure.

Emma's attempt at evasion didn't even faze Dylan. Now he was on a mission.

He hit the platform in seconds, having scaled the rungs by twos. And knowing she would have the door blocked, he bypassed it in favor of the window. It was more for show than anything, and he knew it didn't have a lock. He could hear Emma laughing inside, but her laughter turned to a squeal the moment he started to lift the window. She hadn't counted on that.

Eyes wide, she scrambled for the door as he crawled through the open window, head first, leaving a trail of mud in his wake. She knew exactly what he would do if he caught up to her. They would both be covered in mud—and she would have only herself to blame.

It was his turn to laugh, as he watched her struggling to unblock the door. She hadn't thought about having to escape quickly. Finding his purchase, the floor creaked beneath his sodden feet as he moved toward her.

"Don't do it, D," Emma said warily, as she backed away from him. "We're both gonna get into trouble."

"Should-a thought-a that before you pushed me into the pond, Em," Dylan countered, inching closer, a mischievous grin on his face.

She squealed again, as she envisioned the inevitable. And then he lunged at her, easily tackling her to the ground; laughing, as she squawked in protest. First, he shook his head like a puppy after a bath, and mud flung from his long dark curls, landing everywhere, including all over Emma. Then, flopping around on the floor like a pair of fish, he effectively transferred mud from his clothing to hers. And then he settled back on his haunches, laughing again, as he surveyed his handiwork.

Emma's jaw dropped, and her eyes widened again, as she noted the thickly caked mud on her brand new white shorts and cute little pink and white Hannah Montana t-shirt. "You're gonna get it, Dylan Morgan," she censured. "My Mama's gonna kick your butt."

"She'll kick yours first, when I tell her you pushed me into the pond," Dylan taunted.

She opened her mouth to protest, but knew he was right. She hated it. But she knew. She was in really big trouble over this one. "You're a jerk!" she accused.

Grinning in response, his deep dimples shone as he lunged forward again, this time swiftly kissing her on the lips. "Serves you right."

Jerking back, Emma stared at him in disbelief. "Gross," she declared. "Why'd you do that?"

"'Cause you look cute all muddy like that," Dylan answered. He grinned. "You should see your hair."

Shrieking, Emma was on her feet in an instant. She quickly moved the remainder of her self-imposed blockade, and flung the door open.

Following her out to the platform, Dylan just laughed as he watched her scramble down the ladder. And then his chest puffed out with pride, as he realized what he had just accomplished. He just kissed Emma Spencer. And he knew he would do it again… someday.

* * *

"Mommy! Mommy!" Emma wailed, as she tore across the lawn toward the back door. Never had the distance seemed so vast.

Hearing Emma's voice, Olivia glanced out the kitchen window, spotting her disheveled and muddied child running toward the house. Thank God Tracy had Natalia occupied, she thought.

Jen noted the expression on Olivia's face. "What is it?"

Quickly drying her hands on a towel, Olivia tossed it on the counter. "Not sure," she answered. "Em looks like some sort of swamp creature attacked her."

Jen chuckled. "Dylan, no doubt," she sighed. She wondered how neither of them had broken a bone, or contracted some sort of bacterial infection, from all of their wayward explorations.

Laughing in response, Olivia opened the mudroom door, welcoming the messy child inside. "What happened this time?" she queried.

"Dylan kissed me!" Emma whined. "And it was gross," she reported, emphasizing the chosen adjective.

Jen bit back a laugh, and made a mental note to talk with her son.

"Was that before or after you took a swim in the pond?" Olivia sounded amused.

"After," Emma pouted. She crossed her arms over her chest. "And I didn't take a swim. Dylan did."

"Oh?" Olivia's eyebrow arched, as she feigned surprise. "And how did that come about?"

"I… uh…"

Emma looked guilty as hell, and Olivia laughed. "I thought so," she said, eyeing her daughter up and down. The one who ran to tattle was usually the one at fault. Both sets of parents had learned that quite some time ago. "You'd better run up the back stairs to your room, and change out of those clothes, before your Ma sees you." She motioned toward the stairs with the deliberate tilting of her head. "Go on."

Emma took off like a shot.

"Bring them back down so I can soak them, Jellybean," Olivia yelled after her. "And stop running on the stairs," she added, futilely.

Jen laughed openly then, and Olivia turned to her, shaking her head as she released a sigh of resignation. "I swear to God, Jen, they're either gonna end up killing each other… or married."

Nodding, Jen sighed too. "Let's just hope it's the latter."

Olivia chuckled. "I'll drink to that," she agreed. "Now where the hell is my beer?" she sighed, as she dropped down into the chair opposite Jen, to wait for their respective wives. It was gonna be one of those days. She could already tell.

TBC in Chapter 2…


	2. Chapter 2: Morning Delight

Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Author: Kimberly21570

Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children

Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca

Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, and Natalia Rivera are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Lena and Pauline Kundera, Bianca Montgomery, Zach and Kendall Hart Slater, Maggie Stone, Erica and Mona Kane, Opal Cortlandt, AJ, JR, and Babe Chandler, Krystal Carey, Marissa Tasker, and Myrtle Fargate, are owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The characters of Jordan and Alexandria "Lexie" Montgomery-Kundera, Francesca "Cheska" Stone, and Amelia Slater are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, All My Children, ABC/Disney, Prospect Park, or any other entity. The settings, dialogue, and story content in these scenes are original, with the exception of a small bit of dialogue taken from the 4.29.2013 episode of AMC. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.

Thank you, as always, to my pal, MoniRod for the edit. You are awesome, and I appreciate you more than you know.

Rating: Chapter 2 is rated PG-13, perhaps flirting with R, for sexual situations and some strong language, though this story will eventually reach NC-17.

Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…

Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Copyright September 2012

"The whispers in the morning of lover's sleeping tight, are rolling by like thunder now, as I look in your eyes. I hold on to your body, and feel each move you make. Your voice is warm and tender, a love that I could not forsake."

— Jennifer Rush, _The Power of Love_

Chapter 2—Morning Delight:

_The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, April 21, 2029, 6:30 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_

The morning of her bridal shower, Jordan Montgomery-Kundera awoke feeling refreshed and filled with excitement. Though there was still a chill in the air on the Vineyard that time of year, the sun shone brightly through the huge bay window in her bedroom, and she could hear the sound of the waves, crashing against the shore. Releasing a contented sigh, she settled beneath the covers, reveling in the peaceful familiarity of it, as she contemplated the true meaning of this day. After a two-year engagement, preceded by a two-year courtship, and countless years of longing, today represented another step toward her ultimate dream—marrying the love of her life. Oh, yes, this was going to be a _glorious_ day!

Having made that private declaration, her attention turned to the unique resonance of morning inside the cottage—footsteps creaking in the hallway, the rhythmic perking of the coffeemaker, and the clanking of dishes and mugs in the kitchen. The screeching of her teenaged sisters, as they bickered over whose clothing was whose, before the stomping of sock-clad feet spoke of a mad dash toward an authority figure for validation, only to hear their Mama's voice telling them to work it out themselves. The inevitable grumbling soon followed, as disappointed feet shuffled back toward the far bedroom. And then, of course, more bickering. She chuckled softly to herself. Would they ever learn? She figured not.

Drowning them out, she listened contentedly to the sound of other familiar voices, emanating from the kitchen. Dimples formed as she smiled, thinking of the endless love and support her family provided for her. They were always there. For everything. Riding competitions. Polo tournaments. Basketball and soccer games. Softball tournaments. Even the season she fancied herself a football player. Though her Mama had a really hard time dealing with that one. "Too dangerous," Lena had argued. But in the end, she had agreed anyway. She could never deny Jordan anything. That's how she had gotten the riding lessons, as well. And then there were birthdays, and graduations, and every conceivable other celebration they could conjure up—her family was there for all of them. As they were now—or would be, very soon.

Aunt Kendall and her cousin Amelia were already there that morning, as were her Aunt Maggie, her mom's best friend since high school, and Aunt Olivia, who was her Mama's best friend and business partner. Aunt Maggie's daughter Cheska was there, as well. They had grown up together, and were closer than cousins, despite the lack of any real familial ties.

And she heard Aunt Natalia's voice too. The petite Latina spitfire was fussing at her wife, Olivia, about overexerting herself, trying to move a table. True to character, Auntie O responded with a witty comment, and then Jordan heard the table legs scrape across the floor, accompanied by more fiery chatter from Auntie Talia. Olivia had promptly ignored her wife's censure, and done as she damned well pleased. Those two never changed. Jordan couldn't have loved them more if they were her own parents.

And they had all come a day early to help set up for the party. Her _bridal_ shower. The shower to celebrate her impending marriage to the one person in the world she couldn't imagine living without. Could a girl _possibly_ feel more blessed? Jordan thought not.

Her thoughts turned then to those who were yet to arrive—and those who would be missed. Babcia Paulina, Grandma Erica, and Erica's best friend Opal Cortlandt were set to arrive on the Enchantment jet, mid-morning. Given their advanced ages, she was beyond thankful that they were all well enough to make the trip, and she couldn't wait to see them. AJ's mother, Babe Chandler, his aunt, Marissa Tasker, and his grandmother, Krystal Carey would be arriving on the jet with them. _That should prove to be interesting_, she thought, given the antagonistic relationship her Grandma Erica had always had with Krystal.

She grinned at the thought, and turned her attention back to her grandmothers. They were so different, both as people and as grandparents. Grandma Erica was warm and loving, but not in the same way as Babcia Paulina. Babcia baked cookies and snuggled with her grandbabies in her lap. G-ma, as Jordan and her siblings called Erica, much to the Diva's chagrin, was supportive and encouraging, and she gave great hugs, but she didn't cuddle—she didn't sit still long enough for that—and she definitely didn't bake. Yet despite their core differences, they were so similar when it came to the love they had for her, for her family. She adored them both, and respected them immensely.

Jordan's thoughts turned then to her Grandma Erica's decades-long friendship with the eclectic Opal Cortlandt. It had always amused and intrigued her. Much like G-ma and Babcia, G-ma and Opal couldn't have been more different. Opal was wacky and entertaining with her premonitions and oddball commentary, while G-ma was often self-absorbed, and always so high-strung. But they were both solid when it came to their loyalty toward the ones they loved, and they were always there for one another—just like Jordan's best friends had always been there for her. She treasured that about her life, just as she treasured the memories of those who were no longer with them.

Sadly, Miss Myrtle had passed away when Jordan was just a little girl. But despite Jordan's young age when Miss Myrtle passed, the old carnie had made a lasting impression on her, and the beloved woman's presence would be deeply missed during this special time in her life. She was grateful that her mothers, and grandmothers, and her dad, Zach Slater, had kept both Miss Myrtle and Jordan's great grandmother, Mona Kane, alive for her—for them all, and Jordan knew the beloved women would be there with them in spirit.

Jordan's ruminations shifted then, back to those who were living. Her suitemates from Smith would be arriving soon as well, and they had the entire weekend—a long one, in fact—to catch up on one another's lives. Much to her surprise and delight, they all planned to stay through Monday, so they could celebrate her birthday with her on Sunday. They hadn't celebrated anyone's birthday together since their graduation nearly three years prior. Well, Jordan hadn't celebrated with Taylor and Miah anyway. Ashton was another story. To Jordan's delight, Ashton had been there, always. Since the moment they met at Smith nearly seven years prior. Jordan could not possibly have felt more blessed than she did when she thought about Ashton.

And then there was Emma. Her sweet, beautiful… _infuriating_, Emma. Jordan felt her heart swell, and she laughed to herself as she thought about her. God, she was so much like her mother sometimes! And other times, so much like her Ma. She wondered how a person could be such a contradiction in terms, and not be completely crazy. But Emma was one of the most stable people Jordan knew, despite the challenges she had faced along her life's journey.

Jordan smiled to herself. Emma would be there for her shower too, of course. Already was, actually. And she couldn't wait to experience this day with her.

Like Ashton and Cheska, Emma had always been there. From the time they were children. Though there were years they didn't see one another at all, Jordan couldn't remember a summer, a triumph, a celebration or a tear, or even a single moment that Emma hadn't somehow shared with her, even if only through a quick call, an e-mail, or a text, or a long visit on Skype. Thank God for unlimited everything mobile plans!

Lazily, Jordan stretched beneath the covers, meticulously working out the kinks from a night of restful sleep, preceded by hours of the best lovemaking she'd ever experienced. And then she smiled at the memories as she rolled toward her lover, who was sleeping soundly beside her.

Slowly, dark eyes traced the contours of a face she had long ago come to love—of a body she had longed to touch for far longer than she had realized. _My _God, she thought, as she gazed at the one her heart loved so completely, _how did I ever get so lucky? _

The depth of love, of desire she felt, had come upon her, completely unawares. It had surprised her, albeit pleasantly so, and she had embraced it within herself wholeheartedly from the first moment of awareness.

A hushed moan fell from perfect lips, and then that toned body began to stir alongside her. That subtle movement caused the sheet to slip, exposing a tantalizing expanse of flawlessly tanned skin. The ripple of muscles, even in sleep, stirred something deep inside Jordan's body, as well. It was instinctive, that primal response to the sight of her lover's naked flesh, and in the flash of a mere moment, she felt that need begin to rise and swell.

Reaching out, she slid the tip of her finger down the slope of a strong Roman nose, and then playfully tapped her lover's lower lip.

A smile, and a deep, but quiet giggle, formed in response, and then Jordan leaned down, pressing a kiss where her finger had recently departed. "Morning, _mi__corazón_," she whispered against firm, yet pliable lips.

The familiar Spanish endearment rolled off of Jordan's tongue as smoothly as silk, causing a visceral reaction in the recesses of her lover's body. And just that quickly, the primal nectar began to flow. "Mm… morning, Beautiful," came the low, sultry reply, as muscular arms pulled her impossibly closer.

That familiar early-morning register drew another response from the alcoves of Jordan's body. She grew instantly hard, ready, and a low groan tore from her lungs, as she found herself being pulled into an even deeper kiss. A searching tongue met her own, and insistent fingers raked through her mess of dark curls, holding her firmly in their kiss, as bodies melded together in their bed.

"Last night was incredible," she murmured into their kiss.

A light nibble on her bottom lip marked her lover's response. "You were incredible," a soft voice whispered, emphasizing the party most responsible for the intensity of their lovemaking.

"My God, I've missed you so much," Jordan hissed.

"Mm… I've missed you too," her lover confessed, as tongues continued to explore.

After months of nearly constant separation caused by school and work commitments, they had been grateful to steal a night alone, before a weekend filled with family, friends, and celebration. Not that they were completely alone—the cottage, as usual, was filled to overflowing. But their family had been more than understanding of their need for time alone after dinner last evening. They stole away for a long walk on the moonlit beach, talking and laughing, just enjoying one another's company. And then they came back to the cottage, to their room, where they made love until sleep finally claimed them.

A husky laugh fell from Jordan's lips. "I could tell…"

"Oh, ya could, could ya?" the teasing voice said in response.

"Uh-huh," Jordan replied flirtatiously, as her fingers set to work beneath the covers. "Just like I can tell right now."

A low groan accompanied the reclaiming of her lips. "It never takes long with you," her lover murmured against her mouth.

Jordan smirked into their kiss. "Remember the first time you got all hot 'n…"

A deep flush colored that flawlessly tanned complexion. "Don't even finish that sentence," Jordan's lover said, in a tone that brooked no dispute.

Laughing heartily, Jordan kissed those lips again. "What's the matter? Not up for another stroll down memory lane?"

A shake of the head sent a messy blondish mane into motion. "Not necessarily. No."

"Why not?" Jordan pressed. "It was funny."

"Maybe to you," her lover countered wryly.

Nipping at an ear, Jordan whispered, "It's one of my first memories, you know… of feeling turned on by you."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly a first for me with you," her lover sheepishly confessed.

"Really?" Jordan sounded surprised… and curious.

"Are you kidding me?" Adoring eyes swept across Jordan's chiseled features, and then fingertips drew their lips together briefly, before a trail of kisses made its way toward Jordan's ear. "You have to know you were driving me crazy, every time I looked at you."

Jordan shrugged. "I didn't then," she said. "But I do now."

A soft smile hijacked kissable lips. "Now that we're clear about that, can we change the subject? I'd rather focus on our future."

"Mm… our future," Jordan mused aloud. "That sounds nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jordan giggled. "It's my favorite topic."

"I thought sex was your favorite topic," her lover suggestively intoned.

Jordan laughed and draped her arms around her lover's neck. "How 'bout we combine them, and talk about all the fabulous sex we're gonna have in our future."

Kiss-swollen lips adopted a seductive grin. "How 'bout we forget the talking, and have some of that fabulous sex right now."

"Darlin', you read my mind," Jordan purred, as she playfully nipped at that bottom lip. And then their mouths met, in another deep, sultry kiss, and they were lost to one another again.

Neither of them knew how long they lingered there together, eager hands caressing in all the right spots, fingertips exploring familiar terrain, as bodies rolled and tongues tangled. They only knew that they were interrupted by the sound of Alexandria's voice.

"Jesus _Fuckin'_ Christ!" Lexie screeched. "Can't you two give it a rest!" It wasn't a question. The walls weren't exactly soundproof, and she knew that they had been at it half the night. Thank God it was _her_ bedroom on the other side of the wall, and not the younger kids'. Poor kids would be scarred for life! Between the two of them, and their parents who still went at it like rabbits, Lexie wasn't exactly certain she wouldn't be scarred, herself.

"Don't you know how to knock?" Jordan asked dryly, as she attempted to catch her breath. Her chest heaved, and her lover's eyes twinkled with mischief at the sight of those luscious nipples just waiting to be ravaged.

The question was rhetorical, and Lexie responded in kind. "Don't you know how to lock a door?"

"It's my room," Jordan stated simply, emphasizing ownership.

"Well, if you can't keep your door locked, for God's sake, at least put some fucking clothes on!"

_Oh, my God, you two are such sisters_, Jordan's partner mused, chuckling against her bare breast. Lightly, a tongue teased the underside of a taut nipple, drawing a soft moan, and then a pointed look.

"Stop that!" Jordan muttered under her breath, as she grinned down at her lover, from her position straddling toned thighs.

A roguish grin appeared in response to the lighthearted censure. "That's not what you said last night," the husky voice insinuated, as a firm body rolled her onto her side, a toned thigh slipping between her legs.

"And that's not what I'll be saying thirty seconds from now," Jordan responded. And then a low groan slipped from her lungs, unbidden, as a practiced finger slid through her wetness, teasing in just the right spot. Dark eyes widened. She couldn't believe that had just happened. Not that she minded in the least but, she had to put on a good show for her sister. "But for the moment, _stop that_!"

That wayward tongue and an insistent finger teased again, in a united display of defiance.

And then Jordan was laughing, as she struggled to slide out from beneath the weight of her lover's body, and hoist herself up in bed. She didn't bother to cover herself as she peered over her lover's shoulder, making eye contact with her younger sister. "Mama's gonna kick your ass if she hears you talking like that."

"Whatever," Lexie said dismissively. "Just… put some fuckin' clothes on. I'm an impressionable young girl, you know."

Jordan laughed heartily. "Impressionable, my ass." True to the nature of their relationship, which had always been one of openness and honesty, she didn't hesitate to call her younger sister out on her crap. Alexandria had turned twenty-one just days prior, and she was still as strong-willed and irreverent as she was the day she was conceived. "You had sex long before I did." She groaned at the fact that it was true, and dutifully pinched her obstinate lover.

"Hey!" Her partner yelped, jumping in response.

"Serves you right," Jordan censured, her tone, dry. The recipient of the pinch didn't need to ask why. It had been a point of contention between them for quite some time.

Lexie snorted. She didn't bother to deny her sister's accusation. "Put some clothes on anyway."

"We'll put clothes on when we visit your room," Jordan said. "This one is ours." She emphasized ownership of the space once again. "We'll be as naked as we please."

"All right," Lexie sighed resignedly. Her tone held a touch of censure, mixed with a warning. "But if any of the kids wander in here and find you two like this, it's your ass Mom'll be kicking. Not mine." She emphasized ownership of the ass that would be kicked.

Jordan grinned at her partner, and received a groan of approval for what her hand was doing beneath the sheets. "I'll take my chances," she murmured, as she leveled a sultry gaze into the gorgeous eyes that gazed back into her own. "Now get out, would ya," she said to her sister. It wasn't a request, as she effortlessly hefted a pillow toward her sister. "And lock the door as you go. We have unfinished business to attend to."

Grinning, Lexie used the door to shield herself from the projectile that had been launched toward her. Reaching around, she engaged the lock.

Dark green flecks sparkled in bluish eyes. "I love it when you get bossy," Jordan's partner declared, as perfect teeth nibbled at her ear.

Reaching between her lover's legs, Jordan stroked and squeezed with just the right pressure to elicit the response she desired. "Then you're gonna love what I have planned for you this morning," she husked. "Now, c'mere…"

A roguish grin spread across kiss-swollen lips, eyes never parting from Jordan's gaze. "Tell your Mom not to hold breakfast for us, Lex," the younger girl's soon-to-be in-law said to her. "Apparently, your sister has big plans for me."

Lexie groaned, and Jordan laughed as she pulled her lover fully atop her own body. And then mouths were fused again, bodies tangling.

Shaking her head, Lexie sighed. "It's a fucking _wonder_ I'm not in therapy," she muttered, as she pulled the locked door closed behind her. But she couldn't help the grin that teased as her lips, as she heard the delighted squeal, followed by the quiet laughter that emanated from her sister's bedroom. _Good for her_, Lexie thought. Jordan, more than anyone she knew, deserved the kind of happiness she was experiencing. Lexie hoped it would last a lifetime. Just like their parents.

* * *

_AJ's Room, The Chandler Mansion—Monday, April 29, 2019, 6:00 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_

Jordan gingerly pushed open the door to her best friend AJ's bedroom, hoping to catch him still asleep. A typical, phlegmatic teenaged boy, he didn't usually roll out of bed until five minutes after they needed to leave for school. And she just so happened to be a half hour early this morning, so she figured her chances were fairly good. She hadn't been disappointed.

Stealthily, she crept inside, closing the door with a purposely subdued "click" behind her. And then, prowling like a panther on the hunt, she moved across the floor toward his bed, in complete silence. Though, she could barely restrain the laugh that threatened to burst from her chest.

Crouching down beside his bed, her dark eyes fell upon familiar features, illuminated by the soft light of early morning as it trickled through the disheveled slats in his blinds. She shook her head at the way they always hung so haphazardly—even after his maid just cleaned his room. The fact that he even had a personal maid was ridiculous to her, but that's the way the Chandler's lived—an entire staff of servants at their beck and call, at all hours of the day and night.

Despite the fact that her family was wealthier than the Chandlers could ever hope to be, in Jordan's house, her mothers cooked their meals, did their laundry, and cleaned the house. Well, except for their bedrooms—she and her sisters were responsible for keeping those clean. It was the same at her Aunt Kendall's house, and Jordan preferred it that way. Unlike the Chandler mansion, her house and Aunt Kendall's place felt like real families lived there. The mansion felt more like a museum than a home. Except for AJ's room. His room had always been alive with color and character. And his own unique brand of mess. Like the disheveled blinds. She swore he purposely messed with them the moment the maid left the room. She smiled at the thought. That was such an AJ thing to do.

Meticulously, she studied him—the curve of his lips, the prominent slope of his nose, the angular shape of his jaw, the way his shaggy, streaky blond hair fell across his face. At fifteen, the natural highlights in his hair were a few shades darker than they had once been, but he still looked as cute and innocent as he did at the age of five, when they had their first sleepover—in his life-sized Nascar bed. Thankfully, he had outgrown his obsession with high-speed hijinks, and was now on to fixating over being a rock star.

But the innocence aside, there was something else there now, as well—an edge that lurked, just beneath the surface. At times, it frightened her. Just a little. At others, it drew her to him; seizing that innate need within her to protect and comfort him. After all, he had often been her protector when they were children—fending off the bullies that teased her for having two moms. He decked a kid in kindergarten, earning a high-five from his dad, JR, and a lecture about doing the wrong thing for the right reasons from mother. And when he absolutely pummeled another kid in the third grade, he earned a week in detention for his efforts. His dad took him out for ice cream. His mother took him to church. The third time, in the seventh grade, he earned a fistful of broken knuckles and a ten day suspension. His dad bought him a set of boxing gloves. His mother took him for a visit with Grandma Krystal. If that didn't straighten him out, she had reasoned, _nothing_ would!

But even bloodied and broken, he never stopped fighting for her honor. He was always there in her moments of weakness, a shelter against the tides that threatened to sweep away her security. AJ Chandler, despite his nefarious lineage, was a modern-day knight in shining armor, and Jordan couldn't have loved him more.

Neither could she have loved tormenting him more…

A mischievous grin tickled at the corners of her mouth, as she readied herself for the strike. Carefully, she traced the outline of his body beneath the covers, acquainting herself with where his arms and legs were located, to ensure that she could easily ensnare them. And then quietly, she climbed atop the desk chair that sat abandoned beside his bed. Once she was in prime position, she lunged forward, shoving off from the chair. The force of her body sent the chair careening backwards, where it slammed into his desk, at the precise moment that she pounced on him with every ounce of strength in her ninety-eight pound body.

Ripped from the depths of a dream, he shrieked in terror the moment she landed on him. And then he tussled with her through the heavy layer of covers, as if wrestling a bear, in the fight of his life. He was bigger than her, by at least fifty pounds, but she had the advantage because he had been sleeping partially on his side, but mostly on his stomach, and she had landed firmly on his back. Adding insult to injury, she was a fairly even match for him, muscle-wise, and she had little trouble restraining him. Still, he fought on.

Until she started to laugh…

That delightfully husky, unmistakable laugh. And then all the fight drained from his adrenaline-infused muscles, and he slowly pulled the blanket from over his head. He stared at her, disbelief in his eyes, as he struggled for breath. "_Jesus_, Jordan!" he exclaimed when his breathing recovered enough that he could form words. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just givin' ya a friendly little morning wake-up call, Ace," Jordan grinned. She was perched in the center of his bed, like she owned it.

"Yeah? Well, I'd prefer a phone call to a sneak attack," he grumbled. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"Better not let your Mama hear you talkin' like that," Jordan censured. "She'll drag you back for another week at Grandma Krystal's," she laughed.

"Fuck my life," AJ sighed dramatically. He had nearly lost his mind after a week of listening to her chatter about her biscuits and cornbread, and those endless downhome homilies. And who the hell knew locally produced honey held so many medicinal qualities? Better yet, who the fuck cared?

He glanced at his alarm clock. "What are you doing here so early, anyway? I don't have to get up for another thirty minutes," he groused.

"Come on, Grumpy, we've gotta get going," Jordan said, playfully slapping him on the ass through the blanket. He yelped in protest, as she continued talking, "My mom said she needs to drop us off early this morning."

"Why?" He rubbed his eyes with the base of his hands, wiping the sleep away.

"I don't know," Jordan sighed. "Some lame meeting with my guidance counselor." She rolled her dark eyes for emphasis.

"Uh-oh," AJ said teasingly. He pushed himself upright in his bed, gathering the blankets close around him. "Shrink meets shrink. This could get ugly."

"Whatever," she said dismissively. "Get up. We're already late."

A noticeable blush crept across his face, and he averted her gaze. "I, uh… I can't," he mumbled.

"Why not?" The expression on Jordan's face matched the confusion in her tone.

"I, uh… I'm kinda… not wearing any pants," AJ confessed. His face reddened further, and he lowered his head, allowing his shaggy blondish mop to cover it.

Jordan burst into laughter. "Are you serious, Ace? Jeez, it's not like I've never seen it before. Remember, you and me, naked in the pool since we had floaties?"

"It's different now, and you know it," AJ muttered.

Grinning, Jordan leaned over the edge of the bed, retrieving a discarded ankle sock. "Here, put this on it," she laughed. "Should cover it just fine."

"You are so not funny," AJ said dryly.

Her dark eyes glinted with mischief, and before he could react, she reached out, yanking the blanket from him. His heart lurched in panic, and then quickly calmed, when he realized the sheet was still covering him. He grabbed it before she could yank that away too. And then she was laughing again—that deep, sultry laugh that belied her young age, as she lunged at him again, this time, toppling him over, nearly knocking him off the edge of the bed.

Instinctively, he fought back, effortlessly rolling her onto her back in the center of his bed. The advantage of having his hands free this time, proved to be her downfall, as he held her hands above her head with one hand, while tickling her mercilessly with the other. She screeched and begged, but he didn't relent, until they were both laughing—she, because he was driving her crazy with all the tickling, and he, because he couldn't help but laugh along with her. And then their breath was coming in short gasps, as burning lungs struggled to catch up.

Flecks of green flickered in smoky blue eyes, as AJ peered down at her. And her dark gaze was locked on his, never faltering. She felt the strangest fluttering deep in her belly, and her breath caught as she felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest against her own. She watched with bated breath then, as his head dipped down, lessening the distance between them. Her heart pounded in anticipation. Just before he eliminated the final space, Jordan moved beneath him, and their bodies shifted, bringing them into the sort of intimate contact neither of them were prepared for, or ready to experience.

Jordan gasped. She could feel the stiffness of him against her, as if they were wearing nothing. It startled her, and set her mind to reeling. She hadn't expected this. Not any of it. She had just wanted to have a little fun with him—make a memory that they would laugh about someday. And she'd made a memory all right. One she didn't think they would ever forget! Only they wouldn't be laughing about it. In a moment's time, she had gone from lighthearted and playful, to panicked and confused.

Immediately, he was backing away, apologizing. He was mortified! It was bad enough that it had happened—she didn't need to _know_ about it! Truth was, anytime she was near—hell, anytime he even _thought_ about her, he had to fight to keep it from happening. He couldn't help it. She was so beautiful. And she always smelled so good. And she was always touching him. Never in _that_ way—just… light touches, loving ones, with unexpected hugs. It didn't help that it happened all the time when he slept, too. He didn't understand that at all! But it did. And now, she was looking at him, and the look in her eyes, the expression on her face… God, he just couldn't bear it. She looked as though some sort of animal had just accosted her—and that animal was _him_!

Quickly, he grabbed a pillow, because the sheet was no longer enough. And his apologies continued as he backed his way off of the bed, and into his bathroom.

Willfully shaking off the shock, Jordan finally found her voice again, and along with that, her ability to move. She was off the bed in a shot, following him to the bathroom door. "It's okay, Ace. You didn't do anything wrong. I just… I wasn't expecting that. I wasn't… expecting any of this. But I… I'm not sorry it happened…" She knew that it was true, and that confused her more than anything. She banged on his bathroom door. "Ace…?"

"Go away, Jordan," AJ called from inside. He sounded like a wounded child. "I need to take a shower."

"Just open the door and talk to me for a minute," she begged.

"I can't look at you right now, Jordan," he declared.

"It's not that big a deal, Ace," Jordan argued. _It was a huge deal._ "Come on… talk to me."

"Just… tell your mom I'm not feeling well, okay?" AJ replied. "I'll get a lift with my dad."

"You're really not gonna come out here?"

AJ's answer took the form of running water, as he turned the shower nozzles. He simply couldn't bear to face her. He wondered if he would ever find the courage again.

TBC in Chapter 3…


	3. Chapter 3: Friday Night Lights

Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Author: Kimberly21570

Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children

Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca

Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, and Natalia Rivera, are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Lena Kundera and Bianca Montgomery are owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The original characters of Jordan and Alexandria "Lexie" Montgomery-Kundera, and Jennifer, Tracy, Jacob, Dylan, and Gianna Jackson-Morgan and their extended family are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, AMC, ABC/Disney, or any other entity. The dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.

Thanks to my pal, MoniRod for the edit. You totally Rock, Woman! I appreciate you, and I owe you—BIG TIME!

Rating: Chapter 3 is rated PG-13, though this story will eventually reach NC-17.

Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…

Author's Note: Pay particular attention to the transitions in time, as this chapter contains a flashback within a flashback. It begins with 29-year-old Emma, moves back to the summer when she and Jordan were 20 and 17, respectively, and finally flashes back to the fall of Emma and Dylan's senior year of high school. Also, I admittedly know _nothing_ about football or how recruiters work at the high school level, so let's just chalk up any mistakes or misconceptions to creative license. But please, educate me, if you know better! I'm always open to learning new things.

Hope you all enjoy!

Kim

Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Copyright September 2012

"When I feel that chill, smell that fresh cut grass, I'm back in my helmet, cleats, and shoulder pads. Standin' in the huddle listenin' to the call… Fans goin' crazy for the boys of fall…

They didn't let just anybody in that club. Took every ounce of heart and sweat and blood, to get to wear those game day jerseys down the hall. The kings of the school, man, we're the boys of fall…

Well it's, turn and face the stars and stripes. It's fightin' back them butterflies. It's call it in the air alright, yes sir, we want the ball. And it's knockin' heads and talkin' trash. It's slingin' mud and dirt and grass. It's I got your number, I got your back, when your back's against the wall. You mess with one man, you got us all. The boys of fall…

In little towns like mine, it's all they got. Newspaper clippings fill the coffee shops. The old men will always think they know it all. Young girls will dream about the boys of fall…"

— Kenny Chesney, "The Boys of Fall"

Chapter 3: Friday Night Lights:

_Moshup Beach, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, April 21, 2029, 8:15 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_

Through the years, Emma Spencer-Rivera and Jordan Montgomery-Kundera had shared so many memories, so many special occasions, that it was impossible to recount them all. Yet, they never took those moments for granted, never lost sight of their intrinsic value, regardless of where life had taken them. Life had somehow come full-circle now, and in less than two months they would share the most special, the most joyous of all—a double wedding—with those they loved most.

But today, this weekend, was all about Jordan. Emma had insisted that it be that way. She would have her turn soon enough, she reasoned, and then they would celebrate with her set of close friends and college suitemates, at the original Beacon property in Springfield. She was very much looking forward to seeing old friends, and she had no doubt that her own shower would be spectacular, but being here for Jordan meant far more to her than her own gathering. This was a time to celebrate her childhood playmate, her teenaged coconspirator, her lifelong friend and confidante, and Emma couldn't think of a better way to spend such a glorious springtime weekend.

Clad in shimmery gold running shorts, a faded blue U of M T-shirt, and her favorite pair of running shoes, Emma bounded down the steps that led from the back deck of her family's summer home on Martha's Vineyard, onto the familiar beach below. Her mothers, Olivia and Natalia Spencer-Rivera had purchased the beach house a few years after their first trip to visit Olivia's longtime friend, Lena Montgomery-Kundera and her family. After several trips where they stayed with Aunt Lena's family, a neighboring home went on the market, and her mothers had made a swift decision to buy it. The purchase hadn't changed a thing for Emma and Jordan though, because Jordan always insisted that _her_ Emma stay at the cottage with her, whenever the two families visited the Vineyard together.

With so much going on, both at her parents' beach house and at the Montgomery-Kundera cottage, this particular morning brought a late start to everyone's routine, including Emma's. Most mornings she was out the door just before the break of dawn, and back in time for the rest of the house—with the exception of her mother and Aunt Lena who usually ran with her—to just be rousing from sleep.

Admittedly, she loved to watch the sunrise cast its brilliance across the surface of the ocean, almost as much as she loved to watch the sunset glistening off the bay. But this morning, other things had garnered her attention—and she hadn't been the least bit sorry about that particular turn of events. There would always be another sunrise, she mused. And nothing would ever surpass those early morning whispers, those sweet, tender kisses, those soft, sensual caresses, shared with the love of her life.

A sated grin plastered across her face, she set out on her usual course, swiftly making her way northward on the island. As she covered the familiar terrain, she encountered scenes of a different nature than what she was accustomed to finding in the breaking dawn. She passed two small children with brightly colored plastic pails and shovels, playing in the sand, their parents lounging in beach chairs nearby. And an elderly couple carefully ambled along the boardwalk that ran parallel to the shore, the gentleman offering his wife support as she tottered along with the aid of a thick wooden cane. There were other joggers, as well; some running with their dogs the way Aunt Lena had run with Sandy for so many years. And in the distance, a lone kayaker paddled through the surf.

The scenes registered with her, but didn't linger. Instead, her mind was filled with thoughts of Jordan, of the memories they had shared through the years. And without even realizing where she was going, she found herself jogging along the shores of Moshup Beach, near Gay Head Cliffs. It was a beach she knew well, after years of summering on the Vineyard with her family, and she lost herself in the familiar sights and sounds of the surf and sand.

As a child, she had played there with Jordan and Lexie and their younger siblings. As a teenager, she had jogged there many mornings with her mother and Aunt Lena. And as an adult, the beach—the cliffs that loomed above, in particular—had come to be a part of her romantic history. For better or worse, a part she would never forget.

Halfway through her morning run, she came upon the large, weathered boulder she knew she would find near the base of the mammoth cliffs. Deliberately, she slowed her pace from a steady run to a moderate jog, then into a fast walk, and finally into her natural gait.

Toned muscles rippled beneath lightly tanned skin that glistened with sweat, as she dropped down onto a surface that had been smoothed over by decades of others who had stopped there to rest. Bending her knee, she propped her right foot against the slope of the rock, as she drew in deep, deliberate inhalations of the fresh ocean air, purposefully slowing her breathing, willing it to return to its normal rate. Then, with practiced ease, she slung one arm across her knee, as she unsnapped the holster that held her water bottle in place at her hip, with her free hand. And then, gazing out at the swells of water as they crashed rhythmically against the shore, she took a long draw of the cool, refreshing water.

When finally she returned the bottle to its holster, she casually wrapped her arms around her leg, and rested her chin against her knee. Thoughts still on Jordan, her mind drifted back to one of the defining moments in their lifelong relationship—to the beginning of the summer that, for better or worse, set a course that changed absolutely _everything_…

* * *

_The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, July 17, 2021, 11:45 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time _

Lounging against a pile of sand they had amassed earlier in the evening while building a bonfire for their younger siblings, Emma and Jordan relaxed, enjoying the sounds of the surf and the warm ocean breeze, as the last vestiges of the fire flickered against the darkening night sky. It was their first night together on the Vineyard for the season, and they had spent the hours since the youngsters went to bed, chattering about anything and everything. And now they were taking turns asking questions—some silly, some profound, discovering unknown pieces of one another, as they unwittingly deepened the connection that had begun when they were merely children.

"Charcoal… or gas?" Emma had heard the debate waged a thousand times over the years, especially while on the Vineyard with Jordan's family. Lena and Natalia preferred the gustatory experience of cooking over coals, while Olivia and Bianca preferred the ease of grilling with gas. It was always a battle.

"Ooh, like Mama says, gotta have the coals," Jordan answered humorously. "Everybody knows I'm Mama's girl." There was rapt fondness in her tone.

"That, you are." Emma's voice was gentle, and she smiled softly as her eyes fell upon the young woman next to her. God, she was beautiful, with those dark wavy locks draping her shoulders, framing the angular contours of her flawless face. And those gorgeous brown eyes that flashed dark with passion, and copper flecks that sparkled with joy as she laughed. She looked so much like her mama that Emma actually wondered how it was that her Aunt Bianca was Jordan's biological parent.

Oblivious to Emma's attentions, Jordan paused for a moment, her brow furrowed as she contemplated her next question. "Hmm… English muffin or bagel?"

"Bagel," Emma answered. "Definitely. With hazelnut cream cheese." She sounded as though her mouth was watering. "English muffins are the epitome of false advertisement," she commented offhandedly.

Jordan arched an eyebrow, making her look exactly like her mother. "What?"

Flustered, Emma wondered how the girl could manage to look like both of her mothers at once. Shaking the momentary distraction, she willfully focused on their conversation. "It's true," she insisted, albeit mildly. "They're neither English, nor muffins. That's false advertising."

"You're messed up," Jordan said with a teasing laugh.

Emma grinned, and swept shoulder-length chestnut locks behind her ear. "Tacos or burritos?" Her right knee bent, she casually wrapped her arms around it, as she leaned in toward the waning fire.

"Tacos, hands down. I can't stand beans." Jordan grimaced at the thought.

"And yet you love chili." Emma noted the marked discrepancy.

"Bean-less," Jordan countered, gesturing with a raised index finger for emphasis. "Mom has a killer recipe." Reaching over, she pulled her water bottle from the cooler that was nestled in the sand between them, uncapped it, and took a long drink.

"Huh…" Emma murmured. Her face held a skeptical look. "Bean-less chili. Who knew?"

Jordan chuckled softly. "Trust me, you'd like it," she boldly asserted.

Emma looked amused, as Jordan turned her attention back to their game. "Welch's® or Smucker's®?" she posed, as she tipped the bottle toward Emma, in silent offer. Emma shook her head, indicating a decline, and Jordan recapped the bottle and slid it back into the ice.

"Ooh, with a name like Smucker's®…"

Emma's play on the old television commercial drew another laugh from Jordan. "Country or Pop?" she posed.

"A little of both," Emma answered. "With a side of classic rock."

"Define classic." Jordan emphasized the genre.

"Anything older than my Mom," Emma grinned.

"Good answer." Jordan admired Emma's obvious regard for her mother. "First kiss?"

"Ooh!" That one got Emma's attention, because it opened the opportunity to ask the same of Jordan. For some reason that she found difficult to explain, she really wanted to know. But she forced that thought aside for the moment, not really wanting to deal with what it meant, and focused on the question. "_First_, first, or meaningful first?" she asked, seeking clarification.

"Mm… Both," Jordan replied.

"Okay… the very first was Dylan, in the fifth grade," Emma answered.

"Why Dylan, in particular?" Jordan inquired, with curiosity in her tone.

"Well, I thought his older brother Jacob absolutely hung the moon back then, but he wouldn't give me the time of day." Emma's soft titter was followed by a shrug. "So I kissed Dylan, instead." Her memory flashed back to that hot July afternoon, and she grinned.

"I can't imagine anyone passing on a chance to kiss you," Jordan whispered softly enough that Emma almost missed the comment. Their eyes met, locking in the firelight, and Jordan blushed crimson, realizing that she'd said it out loud. _Where on earth did _that_ come from?_ she wondered, even more startled by the unexpected revelation that she actually _felt_ that way. She wished she hadn't put that bottle away, so she would have something to focus on beside Emma's penetrating gaze.

Emma's heart began to pound within her chest; and she felt it slowly descend through her body, submerging like a cannon ball, until it came to rest somewhere near the source of that incessant fluttering that had accosted her the moment she laid eyes on the girl that morning.

Jordan had always been beautiful, but now, at seventeen, she was simply stunning, and Emma had had a difficult time not staring at the girl. And now, she struggled to compose herself, a shy smile flickering across trembling lips, as Jordan sat next to her, attempting to cover the blunder; both of them hopeful that the firelight would provide cover for flushed cheeks.

"Actually, he kissed me… after I shoved him into the pond," Emma added, coming to Jordan's rescue the moment she managed to find her voice.

Jordan laughed, thankful for the save. It was totally like Emma—both to be Jordan's rescuer, and the catalyst of Dylan's impromptu swim. "Why am I not surprised?" she said dryly.

Instinctively, Emma knew Jordan was referring to the swim. "Probably because I've thrown you into the surf more than once," she grinned proudly.

That was certainly true enough. A wistful smile graced Jordan's face as she recalled the many times Emma has brazenly scooped her up, and dunked her into the ocean. Glancing at Emma's toned biceps, she considered her own mounting strength in the wake of her training, and wondered if she would be able to reciprocate this summer.

Acutely aware of Jordan's steady gaze upon her, Emma shifted, and broke the silence. "Anyway, that was the first of many kisses," she mused. "But our second was the one I remember best."

"Oh?" Jordan sounded curious. She settled in, and poised to hear Emma's story, she offered a quiet encourager, "Tell me about it…"

A bittersweet smile touched Emma's lips, and she felt a slight fluttering in her heart as her memory took her back to that night. "It was Homecoming night, our Senior Year," she shared. "He was quarterback, and we were celebrating after the big win. I was seventeen…"

* * *

_Springfield Southeast High Football Stadium—Friday, October 5, 2018, 10:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time_

Barreling across the field in a triumphant sprint, Dylan Morgan unsnapped the chin guard and whipped his football helmet off in a single fluid motion. It was senior year, and as starting quarterback for the Springfield Southeast Spartans, he had just led their team to a homecoming victory against their arch rival, the Oakdale Acers. The crowd was still buzzing with excitement as they exited the stands, and Dylan felt so high on adrenaline, he was certain he could fly.

He had attended Lincoln Prep with his brother Jacob, and their friend Emma Spencer-Rivera, until the ninth grade, when he had finally managed to cajole his mothers, Jen and Tracy Jackson-Morgan, into letting him transfer to Springfield Southeast High School, because Lincoln Prep didn't have a football team. Reluctantly, they had agreed, and his illustrious career as a hometown football hero had been born.

His mothers were there cheering him on that night, of course, just as they had every Friday night during football season for the past four years. His grandparents, Glenn and Michaela Jackson, his great-grandma Rosie, and his Aunt Bri and uncles, Logan, Cris, and Ronan were there, as well. Home or away, and regardless of the weather, when he had a game, they were right there. All of them. He couldn't have asked for a more supportive family.

He spotted them all in their usual seats, his little sister Gianna nestled between his two moms, with their best friends Olivia and Natalia Spencer-Rivera, sitting alongside, and everyone else sitting in the two rows behind them. It was easier to talk that way—and boy did they all love to talk! He smiled at the familiar sight, waved at them, and turned his attention toward the crowd that had gathered at the sidelines as they stood from their seats and began making their way down the bleachers. He knew he would find her there.

A typical early-October evening in Springfield, the air was crisp and cool. And sweat-soaked from nearly three hours of vigorous competition, his dark curls left a chill at the base of his neck as he rushed across the field. But he didn't care. All he could see was the stunning girl with soft layers of flowing chestnut framing her beautiful face and the most intense teal-blue eyes he had ever seen, waiting for him on the sidelines. She was his best friend, save his older brother Jacob, and he was so in love with her he couldn't see straight—had been, since he was eight years old. She loved to play with frogs, and wasn't afraid of bugs, after all.

And now, at seventeen, he was so blinded by the intensity of what he felt for her that the pressure of knowing she was watching his every move made him nervous beyond comprehension. As a result, he had often wondered how he even managed to catch the ball from their Center, let along get it to their Receiver without incident.

As he dashed across the field, quickly obliterating the distance between them, he knew in his gut that tonight was the night she would finally agree to be his, now and forever. She simply _had_ to. There was no other way it could end. It was his night, and everything so far had played out in perfect accordance with his dreams.

Every single one of those bright floodlights could dim, and still, the smile on Emma's face would have lit up the entire stadium as she watched him running toward her. Despite the residue of filth and sweat after a game, he was always so handsome in his navy-blue jersey and tight, white pants, the number 15 shimmering in gold in the center of his chest and back as he moved across the field under the glow of those Friday Night Lights—the very essence of that exclusive club, "The Boys of Fall."

Even without the bulk of his shoulder pads, his chest and shoulders were broad, his build, stocky; but with them on, he looked as though he could carry the weight of the world on him, never showing signs of burden.

She was so proud of him, so excited for the future that lay ahead—tonight was huge for him, with recruiters from U of T, Ohio State, Penn State, University of Michigan, and Notre Dame all there to see him in action. That wasn't the norm when it came to college sports recruiters. Under normal circumstances, a player and his coach would have chosen tapes of his game plays to submit for consideration. But everything was different with Dylan. Word about him had spread like wildfire, and the scouts had been following his performance since his freshman year. And four years later, tapes simply wouldn't suffice for a player of his notoriety. The recruiters came in person just to meet him, and watch him in action. He was just _that_ good.

And he certainly hadn't disappointed. He had played his heart out on that field, and she was certain they would all be relentlessly pursuing him. Selfishly, she hoped he would choose University of Michigan, where she would be pre-med the following fall. Though she had missed out on sharing experiences like Spirit Week with him, staying at Lincoln Prep had served her well in the pursuit of her dreams to become a cardiologist, just as transferring to SSHS was serving him in his quest to play for the a top-ranked NCAA team, and ultimately, the NFL. It was only a matter of time—she never doubted that for a moment.

One glimpse of that smile, and Dylan's dimples bloomed. Hastening his pace, his cleats dug into the artificial turf, and he shook his head; the sweat flinging from the tips of his curls, as he ran, anxious to get to her.

He tossed his helmet to the ground as he drew near, and then he was sweeping her up off of her feet, twirling her around. "We did it, Em!" he excitedly exclaimed. She was laughing, and it felt so good, so right, to have her in his arms. "We did it. We won!"

"I'm so proud of you, D," Emma crooned against his ear, as she hugged him, toned arms wrapped firmly around his neck. She didn't care that he was a filthy, sweaty, smelly mess—he was her Dylan, and she would never let him go. He put her down, and her hands fell naturally against his chest. "You were totally on your game tonight. I just know the recruiters will be all over you."

"Thanks." Thick dark lashes lowering bashfully, Dylan blushed under her praise. With everyone else, he was boisterous and proud, almost to the point of being conceited, strutting around like the hometown football hero that he was. But with Emma, he was different, more grounded, humbled. "Coach did me well, getting them here. I'm excited to talk with them."

"You deserve it, Dylan," Emma said with sincerity. "You've worked hard for it."

Before he could respond, he felt the tug of little arms around a muscled thigh, and his chest was being enveloped in crushing hugs from his mothers, one on each side. Though he wasn't quite as tall as Jacob, he towered over them now; the tops of their heads barely reaching his shoulders.

Laughing jovially, he reveled in their words of praise, and then he stooped down, effortlessly scooping his baby sister Gia up into his arms, and playfully tossed her into the air. She was the spitting image of him when he was her age. Her eyes and hair were dark like his, and like her birth mother's, and they sparkled in the bright lights of the stadium, as she squealed with utter delight.

Tracy had been pregnant with her the entire first half of his freshman year, but even at the end of her pregnancy, when she was swollen and miserable, she hadn't missed a single game. In fact, the more advanced her pregnancy became; the more enthusiastic she had been as she watched him play. Thankfully, Gia had waited until post-season to make her appearance, and she had been with them at every single game since then. Now, at two-and-a-half, his little sister was the light of his life, and as much as he couldn't wait to play college football, the thought of leaving her behind absolutely devastated him.

The rest of their family—his and Emma's—soon made their way down the stands, joining them, and the conversation continued, unfettered. Classmates, friends, and town folks alike offered him congratulatory words and slaps on the back as they passed by, filing out of the stadium. He called back thanks to each and every one of them, excitement and anticipation in his tone. But his focus was on Emma and their family.

"Hey, Morgan!" a baritone voice called out across the field, interrupting them. "Let's hustle. You've got some important folks to meet tonight."

Dylan grinned, and Emma beamed with excitement. "Be right there, Coach," he called back. His eyes never left Emma's. Gently, he pulled her aside. "I need to get cleaned up and meet with the recruiters. Will you wait for me?"

Emma chuckled at the silliness of his question. "Of course I'll wait for you," she said. "Don't I always?"

"Yeah—" Dylan blushed again in response.

"I'll have one of my moms take my car, and you can drop me at home later," Emma said assertively. "Deal?" She didn't have to ask. That was simply the way it had always been after the Friday night football game; though Jacob used to be with them too. Jake, as he wanted to be called now, was a freshman at Stanford University, studying mechanical engineering, and though she was happy for him that he was pursuing his dream, she still missed him terribly, as did Dylan.

"Deal." He hesitated for a moment, as the sound of his own rapid heartbeat rushed in his ears, and then he reached out, gently touching her arm. "One more thing…"

"What's that?" She already knew.

"The dance tomorrow night… will you go with me?" Dylan asked, almost shyly. Uncertain of her response, he had hesitated in asking almost to the point of avoidance. She had gone with him, as friends, in years prior, when she was involved romantically with Maureen Reardon. But things were different now.

Though Maury had known Dylan was in love with Emma, she had never cared that Emma went to his high school dances with him. Since they first started dating, she had always been the one on Emma's arm at Lincoln Prep dances, and that was all that mattered. Besides, he was their friend, and both Maureen and Emma knew he would never cross that boundary.

But Maury was away at college now, and she and Emma were no longer exclusive—Maury had insisted upon it, much to Emma's chagrin. Because she didn't want to hold Emma back, she had said.

In retrospect, Emma had fleetingly wondered whether Maury's nonchalance regarding her platonic dates with Dylan should have served as a warning. But it mattered little now. Their relationship was over, and it was time for her to move on. It mattered little to Dylan at this point, as well. Emma was truly available now, and he wanted this year's Homecoming dance to be their first real date. He hoped she wanted that too.

The flirtatious grin on Emma's face made her look so much like her mother. "Was there ever any doubt?" she said in a husky tone.

"I had hoped not," Dylan said with a shy smile. He leaned down then, kissed her cheek. "I'll be back soon."

Her flesh burned where his lips had touched. "I'll be right here waiting," she said, softly, as her fingertips brushed against the rippling muscles of his upper chest. _Just like I always am._

His heart skipped a beat, and he smiled at her. Then, stooping down, he retrieved his helmet from the ground, waved a quick goodbye to his family, as he called out a promise to his mothers that he would be home as soon as possible. And then he was sprinting toward the locker room doors where he would get cleaned up, before meeting with recruiters from some of the top-ranked NCAA teams in the country. Yes, one by one, his dreams were becoming reality.

* * *

_Out and About in Springfield—Friday, October 5, 2018, 11:15 p.m. Central Daylight Time_

"Did you see the way those two were looking at one another?" Tracy Jackson-Morgan's tone was brimming with anticipation as she spoke of the connection between Emma, and her youngest son Dylan. She stole a glance at Jen, her wife of nearly ten years, as she navigated the familiar path to their home on Augusta Drive, in the suburbs to the west of Springfield, after the Homecoming game.

They had met while working at the Beacon nearly a year after Jen's husband Jake had been killed in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, leaving her alone with a one year old baby, and another due any day. Jen could have chosen, of course, to return to Boston where her parents and sisters were living at the time, but she wanted to stay in Springfield—to raise her sons in the home she and Jake had made together. Her heart told her it was the right thing to do. Nearly a year later, she began to understand exactly why.

From the moment they met, Tracy had been taken, not only with Jen's precious little boys, Jacob and Dylan, but also with their mother. And her family had quickly followed suit, taking Jen and her sons in as part of their own. That was simply the way that they were.

While Jen, a devout Christian, and the daughter of a Southern Baptist minister, instantly welcomed the acceptance as a member of Tracy's boisterous Irish-Italian clan, it had taken her the better part of three years to finally admit that she was in love with the much younger woman. Much to Jen's delight and amazement though, Tracy had remained steadfast in her commitment to her and her sons, despite the glacial nature of their burgeoning relationship. And in the end, they had been rewarded with the family they all knew was meant to be from the start.

They married in the spring of 2010, after an exhausting but triumphant battle against Jen's former father-in-law, Preston Morgan, over the custody of their two young sons. Tracy legally adopted the boys, signing the official papers on their wedding day, and they rounded out their family when they welcomed their daughter Gianna, just before their sixth anniversary.

The single point of contention between Jen and Tracy for a number of years, their eventual decision to have a child together was met with raucous enthusiasm by their entire extended family. And Gianna's birth two years later had been a joyous occasion for all, as had her christening six weeks later, where Tracy's younger sister Brianna, and their best friends Olivia and Natalia, had been named as Godparents.

Watching Tracy as she drove, Jen regarded her with a familiar sense of awe. She couldn't believe this beautiful, passionate woman was truly hers. At thirty-four, Tracy was no longer the ingénue Jen had fallen in love with so long ago; though she still looked the part, with those dark, curly locks framing her eternally-youthful face. "Yeah, I saw," she said wistfully.

The tips of her fingers lightly brushed the edge of Tracy's angular jaw, as she reveled in the beauty of her, inside and out. "Dylan looks at Em the way you used to look at me when you weren't much older than him."

"You don't think I still look at you that way?" Tracy feigned a pout.

"No, you do," Jen assured. "But it's different now, because you know you can have me." Her lips flickered into a suggestive grin.

An eyebrow arched in interest. "Oh, I can, can I?" Suddenly, Tracy couldn't wait to get home. She stole a glance in the rearview mirror. Spying their daughter fast asleep in her car seat, she silently prayed that the child would remain that way for the duration of the night.

Jen smiled in response to Tracy's flirtatious tone, and the presumably unconnected check on their sleeping child. She _knew_ better. The woman had been relentlessly coquettish from the moment they first met, despite the fact that Jen was seemingly straight. "I've been putty in your hands for more than a decade now, love. You know that."

"I've always wanted to be a sculptor," Tracy commented offhandedly.

"Oh, stop it," Jen laughed. "My point is Dylan hasn't figured out yet, that Emma is his for the asking."

"He's been too afraid to actually do the asking." Tracy emphasized the action part.

"I can understand him not wanting to risk being hurt," Jen empathized. "Em's just getting over the breakup with Maury."

"No risk, no reward, right? I mean, look at the risk I took with you," Tracy commented.

"It was ballsy, I'll give you that," Jen teased.

Tracy laughed easily, the way she always did with Jen. "Best risk I've ever taken in my life."

Jen released a soft, contented sigh, and reached across the center console, taking Tracy's hand in her own. Instinctively, their fingers intertwined. "Me too."

"So you think if he does risk it, the outcome will be in his favor," Tracy said. It wasn't a question.

"The way she was looking at him, touching him?" The tone of Jen's voice said she was raising the question. "Oh, yeah, it's only a matter of time before they're an item."

* * *

_Saturday, October 6, 2018—the Farmhouse of Love—1:45 a.m. Central Daylight Time_

"I'm sorry we didn't really get to hang out tonight," Dylan said sincerely, as he carefully closed the door on his classic '65 Mustang G.T., after holding it for Emma to get out. The car had been his father's pride and joy, once upon a time, and Dylan was proud that he had been able to keep it in tip-top shape, despite its increasing age. "I hope your Ma won't be mad—y'know, me getting you home so late and all."

His hands were shoved nervously into the front pockets of his jeans, and he gave Emma a sideways glance, as he self-consciously shrugged his shoulders. "Coach said it would just be a quick meet-and-greet with the recruiters tonight, and they'd call for a sit-down next week if they were interested," he added as an afterthought, though the explanation was completely unnecessary.

It had turned into far more than just a quick meet-and-greet, and they were out way past her midnight curfew, but Emma hadn't minded at all. The entire drive home, he had chattered animatedly about his discussions with the recruiters, the incentives they were offering, and she had loved every single moment of it.

She was excited for him, and for the opportunities this night represented for him. Besides, the recruiters from rival schools Ohio State and U of M had astutely caught on to Emma's importance to Dylan, and each made deliberate attempts to make her feel included in the conversations. She knew it was self-serving on their parts, but she appreciated the gestures anyway. The fact that her future school was represented in such a way only sweetened the deal.

Casually, Emma looped her arm through his as they walked toward the front porch of the farmhouse where she had made a home with her two mothers nearly a decade prior. "No worries, D, I checked in with Mom before curfew to let her know the scoop. She said she'd run interference for us."

Not surprisingly, Olivia had always been the easier of her two moms, and never more so than when it came to Emma's social life. Olivia had always sworn she wouldn't be like her own mother when it came to that, and she had been true to her word, often to the chagrin of her wife, Natalia.

"Well, tell your moms I'm sorry, anyway, okay?"

Emma laughed softly, and squeezed his arm. "I'll pass that along, Sport."

They walked in silence for a moment, quickly reaching the edge of the front porch. The light above the door was on, as if waiting for their arrival. But the living room looked dark, save the soft familiar glow of the tiny lamp on the far end table—the one they switched on when they retired for the night.

Emma smiled at the greeting, and though she was afraid to fathom the details, she silently thanked her mother for managing to get her ma to not wait up. Amused by her own thoughts, she shook her head, as she took the one step up onto the weathered wooden platform. The boards released a familiar groan under the weight of her black suede ankle boots, and she grimaced, hoping her ever-vigilant ma wouldn't awaken.

His hands still buried in the pockets of his faded Levi's, Dylan remained on the sidewalk, making her almost as tall as him, given her low-heeled boots. She was nearly a foot shorter than him under normal circumstances, and he was surprised to realize how much he enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of looking directly into those sparkling bluish-green eyes. "So, I'm glad you agreed to be my date tomorrow night," he said, finally breaking the silence.

A smile flickered across Emma's lips. "I'm glad you finally asked," she replied. _It's a good thing you did, or you would've missed out on a perfect dress—one I bought just for you_. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."

"I, uh… I was nervous about asking," Dylan confessed.

"Why?" Emma sounded perplexed. He had never hesitated before.

"Because it's different now," he shrugged.

"Because I'm not with Maury anymore?" Emma ventured to guess.

"Yeah," he nodded, avoiding her gaze. "I want it, um…" he stammered, nervously clearing his throat. "Well, I was hoping it could be a… a real date." Though he admittedly hadn't dated very much, he had never hesitated in asking a girl out before. But everything was different with Emma. Her response mattered more to him than anything else ever had, or ever would.

After a moment of silence passed between them, he risked a glance at her. To his relief, he found her smiling at him, her eyes slowly caressing his face.

Reaching up, Emma raked her fingertips through his soft dark curls. He looked so handsome in the moonlight—those teasing dimples, and those beautiful dark eyes that twinkled when he smiled, and that strong, angular jaw. Slowly, she brushed her fingers along the edge, the scruffy beginnings of a five o'clock shadow prickling their tips. She hoped he wouldn't shave it off before the dance. "I was hoping it could be, too," she said softly. And then the still of the night enveloped them again.

It surprised her, how much she meant it. But she knew that it was true. Though it had taken her a while to get over her breakup with Maury, she was finally ready to move on. And who better to move on with than the guy who thought she looked pretty enough to kiss, even when she was completely covered in mud? Briefly, her thoughts flashed back to that July afternoon, and she couldn't help but smile at the memory.

Suddenly, Dylan found that he was short on words, and long on nervous excitement. She looked so beautiful in her favorite old faded jeans, and an exact replica of his football jersey, with his letterman's jacket nearly swallowing her whole. He had willingly parted with his jacket earlier in the evening, draping it around her shoulders so she wouldn't get too cold while he chatted with his coach and the recruiters. It was an act that had repeated itself since his very first high school football game, but tonight, he hoped it would end very differently.

Earlier that evening, as she stood watching him interact with the recruiters, she had slipped her arms into the sleeves, and the strangest sensation came over her, almost as if he were holding her close. Surrounded then, by the familiar scent of his cologne, she relaxed in the warmth of the embrace. It felt right to her, in a way that nothing else had since Maury broke up with her nearly five months earlier, and she had decided right then and there to just let go, and see where things might lead with Dylan. Something inside her said that it was inevitable anyway. Not that she minded in the least.

And now, here they were, standing on her front porch, well past her curfew; neither of them really knowing what to say, or how to say it. So strange for them, this uncertainty, this inability to communicate—in grade school and junior high they were constantly in trouble for talking in class. The tides were turning faster than either of them might have anticipated, and it was, at once, both exhilarating and scary.

Emma's eyes glistened in the moonlight as it intermittently peeked out from behind the clouds that drifted across the late-night sky. And as he gazed at her, Dylan's heart pounded wildly in his chest. "It's late," he said, finally breaking the silence. "I should probably go."

"I wish you didn't have to," Emma said softly. It seemed as though their time had but cut so short that night, and something inside her missed those lost moments.

"Me too," Dylan agreed. Had she articulated that feeling of loss, she would have found that it echoed his own. "Sometimes, I wish we were still kids."

"You mean before all the rules changed," Emma said knowingly. _Before Ma put a stop to our platonic sleepovers, and made it a rule that you couldn't be in my room unless she or Mom were upstairs._

"Yeah," he sighed. "Things were so much easier back then." _Before hormones got in the way._

Meeting Dylan's gaze, a wobbly smile flickered at the corners of Emma's mouth. She reached out, lightly touching his cheek again. "We'll figure it out," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

Nodding, Dylan's gaze dropped to his feet, as silence enshrouded them again. "Em?" he whispered finally.

There was a quiet shyness in his tone that was unusual for him, and Emma was suddenly more aware of his presence than ever. She instinctively knew what was coming, and she was surprised to realize how much she wanted it.

"Yeah?" She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening.

"May I, um…" Nervously, Dylan shuffled his feet, his hands still buried in his pockets. "May I kiss you goodnight?"

A soft chuckle slipped from Emma's lips, unbidden. "You're asking permission to kiss me?" She sounded amused as she emphasized the parts about consent and kissing.

Uncharacteristically, Dylan blushed. "Hey, last time I kissed you without permission, I earned lectures from both of my moms," he said. "They'd kick my ass if they ever found out I—"

"Yes—" Emma cut to the chase.

"Yes?" Dylan's eyes were filled with surprise, as he met her gaze again. Smiling at her, dimples blooming, he hoped he didn't look like a complete dope.

Yes," Emma quietly confirmed, those teal-blue eyes slowly searching his dark ones.

Suddenly, Dylan was more nervous than he ever imagined possible. His palms were sweaty and his throat went dry. He had waited nine years for a repeat of that kiss they had shared in Emma's tree house in the fifth grade, and now, he was afraid he would blow it.

"Well?" Impatient, Emma sounded nervous too.

He was surprised she wasn't tapping her foot. "I just… I don't wanna screw it up," he admitted. _Jesus, Morgan, what the hell's wrong with you?_ he silently chastised. _It's not like you've never kissed a girl before!_

"You know," Emma said, with a hint of humor in her tone, "for a big-shot football star, you're kind of a lame-ass."

"Oh, shut up," Dylan laughed. He could always count on her humor at just the right moment, and he was grateful for the reprieve from the tension.

"You shut up," Emma retorted. Playfully, she pushed his shoulder. "Just kiss me, will ya?"

Stepping closer, Dylan became acutely aware of the nearness of her. Slowly, he searched her face, and then those mesmerizing eyes. They were a dark blue now with tiny flecks of green and gold that twinkled in the moonlight, and his heart fluttered at the way the colors shifted with her emotions. And when she smiled at him, he reached up, brushing his fingertips against her cheek. God, she was beautiful. He couldn't believe it was finally happening.

Gently, he cradled her face in his hands. And then the pad of his thumb brushed across her lower lip, and he heard the subtle rush of air as her breath caught. His skin tingled where he had touched her, and she felt the heat of fire in its wake. Subconsciously, she drew her lip into her mouth, soothing it with her own tongue. He watched, wishing he could've been the one to soothe it for her.

The soft scent of her body, of her hair, surrounded him, as they mixed with lingering traces of his cologne. He felt his pulse increase in response, and silently prayed that his body wouldn't betray him. Not now. They were so close that he swore she could hear the pounding of his heart in his chest. And then her hands fell gently against his chest, like they had so many times before, and he knew that she could feel the effect she was having on him.

Unbeknownst to him, Emma's own heart was racing; the incessant pulsation of blood echoing like the rush of waves in her ears, blocking out all other sound. His fingertips felt like fire against her skin, and her only other awareness was the sensation of his warm breath on her face as he moved closer. Her body began to tremble as the heat of those piercing dark eyes flickered down, caressing her lips. Almost as if he had physically touched them again, she felt the heat of flames licking against them.

Her body swayed, falling into his, and those shimmering eyes slipped from his view, as her eyelids fluttered closed. And then she felt the first tentative brush of his lips against her own. A sharp, swift intake of air marked her response, and then his mouth skimmed against hers again, this time, a bit more confidently. She smiled against his lips, and returned his kiss.

A moment passed as lips caressed, and then he lifted his mouth from hers, purposefully meeting her gaze. The darkening hue of her eyes as they searched his own answered his unspoken question. Moving his hands to her waist, he pulled her impossibly closer, holding her protectively, as his mouth met hers again, this time in a kiss that was filled with certainty.

Her hands never left his chest, as he held her smaller frame taut against his own body. So many times in the past he had held her close. But never like this. Never in a way that spoke of intimacy and passion, and just a touch of pride. She was his now. He could feel it in his soul. Or rather, he was hers. He liked that better—knowing that he belonged to her.

The kisses that followed were slow and sweet, almost to the point of being chaste. Unlike any Dylan had shared with other girls. Not that there had been many, but he certainly hadn't been immune to the charms of a few who had thrown themselves at him. But everything was different with Emma, and the tenderness of his kisses, his touch, spoke of how deeply he cared for her. At least he hoped that was the message he was conveying to her.

As for Emma, kissing Dylan was so completely different than kissing Maureen, and she found herself intrigued by the dichotomy. His body was hard against hers, where Maury's had always been taut, yet yielding. And his mouth, while gentle, felt firm against her lips. She felt protected, cherished, as she lingered in his embrace, lost in the newness of his kiss.

Despite the lightness of his kisses, when finally Dylan broke away, Emma found herself nearly breathless, her thoughts adrift in a hazy fog. Gone was the teasing twinkle that was always so present in her eyes when she looked at him—replaced by something neither of them could quite describe. And though there had been an undercurrent of attraction between them for years, it was almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. It made her nervous, but in a good way. Ironically, that fact only served to heighten her tension. She offered him a wobbly smile, and then subconsciously bit her bottom lip.

Dark eyes, filled with a new sense of awareness, flickered down, focusing on that kiss-swollen lip as Emma drew it into her mouth. Unbidden, thoughts of how that lip would feel in his own mouth rushed over him like a tidal wave, and instantly, he felt his body respond in ways that he deemed inappropriate, especially with her.

He felt his face flush, and he prayed that it didn't show in the faint light that cast a glow around Emma's petite figure, as he shifted his body enough to break contact with hers, without arousing her suspicion. "I really should get going," he said, the calmness in his tone belying the inferno of hormones that raged inside his body.

"Yeah," Emma quietly agreed. The shifting of his body away from her helped her regain her composure, and she was grateful for the return of some of her mental faculties. "But I'll see you later tonight."

Excitement flickered in Dylan's eyes as he smiled at her. "Seven thirty?" He had reservations at his Uncle Carlo's restaurant at eight o'clock, and knowing she had never been, he couldn't wait to surprise her.

"Sounds perfect." Emma's voice was soft, almost husky, as she returned his smile. She was more excited than she ever could've imagined. This was a whole new adventure for her, and she was very much looking forward to it. Did she have some concerns about how a romantic entanglement might affect their friendship? Naturally, she did. But she had been down that road with Maury, as well, and to her, the benefits far outweighed any potential complications.

"Tonight, then," Dylan said with a nod, as he slowly backed away, his gaze never leaving hers.

Caught in the moment, Emma nearly forgot she was wrapped up in his jacket. When she realized it, she called out to him. "Dylan, wait," she said, as she began shrugging out of the heavy fabric. "Your jacket."

He smiled and moved closer again. Grasping the front of the jacket in his hands, he held it in place. "You could keep it," he suggested softly, tentatively. And then he shrugged his shoulders. "If you want…"

The question was embedded in his comment, and the smile that flickered across her face reached her eyes, as she cradled his face in her hands. "I want, very much, Dylan Morgan," she quietly affirmed. And then she moved effortlessly into his arms, kissing him to seal her response to the question he had longed to ask her since the day he first kissed her in that old tree house, overlooking the pond.

TBC in Chapter 4…


	4. Chapter 4: Connections

Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Author: Kimberly21570

Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children

Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca

Disclaimer: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, and Natalia Rivera, are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Bianca Montgomery, Lena Kundera, and Kendall Hart Slater are owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The characters of Jordan and Alexandria Montgomery-Kundera are the property of this author, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, AMC, ABC/Disney, Prospect Park or any other entity. The dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.

Thanks to my pal, MoniRod for the edit. You totally Rock, Woman! I appreciate you, and I owe you—BIG TIME!

Rating: Chapter 4 is rated R for some moderate sexual content.

Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…

Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived

Copyright September 2012

"Invisible threads are the strongest ties."

— Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter 4—Connections:

_The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, April 21, 2029, 8:30 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_

Barefoot and dressed in a favorite pair of jeans and her old Smith College basketball jersey, Jordan shuffled into the kitchen in search of her morning coffee. The rich, aromatic substance had become one of her staples during college, and a life-sustainer once she entered law school. And now, she simply couldn't imagine a morning—or evening, for that matter—without it.

The aroma having lingered through the house for hours, teasing her, it was now time to indulge. And fresh out of the shower, her dark, curly locks, towel-dried and draping loosely around her bare, muscular shoulders, served as proof of that she simply couldn't resist for one more moment, as she headed straight for the source.

Moving through the entryway between the living room and the kitchen, she muttered, "Morning," around a partially stifled yawn, to Lexie, who was busily clearing the remnants of breakfast. Surprisingly, she was the only one around.

Glancing up from loading the dishwasher, Lexie offered her sister a dimpled smile. And then she stood to her full height, as Jordan stopped by her side. "You two finally get enough?" she asked with a teasing grin, as she bumped her shoulder against her sister's.

"Hardly," Jordan answered forthrightly. "But we had to come up for air sometime," she grinned over her shoulder, as she reached into the cabinet in search of her favorite mug. "We have guests arriving in a few hours."

Shaking her head, Lexie chuckled.

"Speaking of, where is everyone?" Jordan asked. Ceramic mugs clinked together, as she shuffled them on the shelf. "It's weird, the house being this quiet."

"Aunt Olivia and Auntie Talia went back to their place after breakfast. Mama sent the girls down to the fish market—I think to keep them occupied, so they'll stop fighting. Lord knows we don't need any more seafood," she laughed.

Jordan nodded her agreement, as she pulled her Pittsburgh Steelers coffee mug from the back of the cabinet. It was black at the bottom with the team name etched in white, and gold at the top, with the team logo centered and the juncture of the two colors. A diehard Steelers fan, she had a travel tumbler to match, and another set at home in Pine Valley, and she wondered how they always seemed to get buried in the deep recesses of the kitchen cabinet, regardless of whether she was here at the cottage, or at home.

"And everyone else is down on the beach," Lexie added, as she reached around Jordan to grab her own mug.

White ceramic, Lexie's mug had a picture of an old-fashioned typewriter on it, with the simple, yet profound statement, "I write… simply because I must breathe," boldly emblazoned below. Jordan had designed it for her when she was accepted into the journalism program at Boston University. As an aspiring writer, it suited her perfectly, and Lexie absolutely adored it. So much so, that she carried it with her wherever she traveled. "Pour me some too, will ya?"

Jordan took the mug from her sister with one hand, as she lifted the carafe with the other. "Your arms broken?"

Delivered on a hint of teasing sarcasm, Jordan's comment drew a laugh from Lexie. She leaned a jean-clad hip against the countertop, watching her sister pour two cups of their mothers' special brew with practiced ease. "No. You just do such a fabulous job of pouring," she said with her usual air of witty charm.

"Lazy-ass," Jordan accused.

Lexie grinned, but she didn't bother to argue. "Hey, I'm sorry I walked in on you guys this morning," she said apologetically. "I didn't think you'd be awake that early. And I certainly didn't expect you'd be doing that." The final word of her statement was punctuated with her voice and a mischievous grin.

A slight flush colored Jordan's face in response, and she brushed the incident off with the wave of a hand. "Don't worry about it," she said passively. "I guess we just didn't get it all out of our system last night." She set the carafe back on the warmer, and lifted the mugs, passing Lexie's over to her.

"I can't imagine how that's even possible."

Lexie's dry tone drew a laugh from Jordan. "You're just jealous," she accused. She took a sip of the hot liquid, and set the mug on the counter, as she watched Lexie douse her coffee with her usual measures of cream and sugar. Jordan preferred her black—and the darker, the better.

Reaching across to the drawer where the utensils were kept, Jordan retrieved a spoon, handing it to her sister.

"Thanks," Lexie acknowledged. And then the metal clinked rhythmically against the ceramic mug, as she stirred. "Can't argue with that," she said wryly, in response to Jordan's assertion. She tapped the spoon against the edge of the mug with one hand as she flipped the water faucet on with the other. And then rinsing the spoon off under the running water, she dropped it into the open dishwasher.

Then, sipping her coffee, she moved across the kitchen, leaning against the edge of the table. "Mm…" She verbalized her pleasure upon the first taste of that liquid motivation, and then lifted her mug toward Jordan. "Thanks."

Leaning against the counter, Jordan nodded in response. "I thought things were going well with Devon," she said, referencing her sister's latest conquest. Enigmatic, adventurous, and self-assured, her younger sister had little trouble finding dates. Her trouble was keeping them.

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with her. She was a wonderful person—tender, loving, stable, genuine to the core—and admittedly willful, at times; but that only added to her charm. Yet, somehow she had gained a reputation as a player—an erroneous reputation, to be certain. And sadly, that reputation had followed her to Boston University, where she was a junior, studying communication and journalism.

Jordan often wondered how much of it was caused by the broken heart Lexie had suffered as a young teen. Did she sabotage her chances with people out of fear of being hurt again? She hoped not, but she was afraid that it was true. Her little sister deserved to be happy, and Jordan prayed that one day Lexie would find the person who was special enough to break down the protective wall she had built around her heart.

"Depends on how you define 'well'," Lexie sighed. She set her mug down on the table, and crossed her arms over her chest: a subconscious signal of protectiveness.

"Guess it's been a while since we've really talked, huh?" Jordan sounded as though she felt guilty for letting her sister down. Like all sisters were prone to do, at times, they fought like cats and dogs. But at the end of the day, they were always one cohesive unit—the Montgomery-Kundera girls. And all their lives, they had talked about everything. Even the things that, for whatever reason, they found difficult to express to one another.

"Yeah," Lexie confirmed. "But we've both been really busy with school. And y'know, you've been planning this insignificant little event called a wedding." Her facetious tone drew a chuckle from Jordan. This was one of the things she loved most about Lexie: no matter how much she was hurting, she was always more concerned about easing everyone else's pain.

Shaking her head, Jordan set her mug on the counter, and stepped across the kitchen. "That's no excuse, though," she countered.

Moving into Lexie's personal space, Jordan raked her fingers through her sister's wild dark curls, with fondness, brushing them back from her angular face. Somehow the two of them had managed to inherit their Aunt Kendall's unruly mop, rather than the tamer locks of either of their mothers. And thus, it was a gesture she had repeated with both her own hair and Lexie's, more times than she could even count.

Standing just over five-and-a-half feet tall, Lexie was only slightly shorter than Jordan's five-foot-seven frame, but they were both built like athletes, with toned muscles and chiseled physiques. And despite the four year difference in their ages, it was almost like looking in a mirror, as Jordan casually draped her arms over her sister's shoulders.

Their gazes locked, searching. "I've missed you," Jordan said softly, as she drew her younger sister fully into her embrace. It had been difficult, to say the least, when she left for Smith seven years prior, but being away at law school at Yale had been even tougher, because she and Lexie had grown infinitely closer as they grew older. "Stubborn pain in the ass that you are."

Lexie laughed and returned the hug with warmth and affection. "I've missed you too, Sweet-talker. I can't believe it's been months since I've seen you."

Jordan smiled as she met Lexie's gaze again. Neither of them felt any urgency to move away from the other. "It means a lot to me, you know, to have you standing up for me when we get married." Her tone was soft, filled with emotion.

Lexie shrugged. "Well, y'know, I figured it's the least I could do, given that Emma's gonna be otherwise occupied," she said, wittily. For the longest time growing up, she thought it would be Emma standing up for Jordan, when the time came. The two of them were practically inseparable. No matter where they were, they always seemed to have their heads together, talking, giggling, conspiring. There had been a time when the connection they shared left Alexandria feeling left out, jealous, despite her own closeness with each of the girls. But now she understood, like only a sister could.

Amused, Jordan shook her head, a grin teasing at her lips.

Lexie's expression turned tender then, her gaze soft on Jordan's face. "It means a lot to me that you asked," she quietly admitted. "I know I give you shit sometimes, but…"

"Sometimes?" Jordan arched a questioning eyebrow, and Lexie laughed.

"Okay, all the time," she amended. "Now, are you gonna let me finish my heartfelt speech, or what?"

"Oh, well, by all means," Jordan granted. She made a show of zipping her lips, which drew another light chuckle from her sister.

"But you're my best friend in the entire world, Jordan," Lexie continued, tears glistening in pools of deep liquid onyx, as they gazed into eyes as dark as her own. "Always have been. Always will be."

Jordan feigned choking up with exaggerated emotion, as she wiped at the unshed tears in her own eyes. "Well, Lexie that's just so sweet, I… I think you're gonna make me cry."

Lexie swiftly smacked her, and called her an ass, even as she acknowledged the depth of emotion that reflected in her sister's eyes, as they gazed back into her own. And then they were laughing and hugging again.

"What has you two all huddled up together?" Bianca asked as she sauntered into the kitchen in search of a fresh cup of coffee.

"We're just commiserating about Lexie's shitty sex life," Jordan responded before Lexie could get a word in.

"Jordan!" Lexie shrieked, with a slap to her sister's shoulder.

Amused by the two of them, Bianca shook her head and smiled. "Where's Emma?" she asked, as she refilled her mug, and set the carafe back on the warmer. "I haven't seen her since first thing this morning."

Craning her neck toward her mother, Lexie answered. "She's out for a run. Should be back around nine thirty, if she takes her usual course."

"Perfect," Bianca declared, as she moved across the kitchen. "The car is scheduled to arrive from the airport at ten." Settling at the table, she glanced up at the younger of her daughters, with a look of keen interest. "Now, what's this about a shitty sex life, Lex?"

Glaring at her sister behind their mother's back, Lexie silently sent that _I'm-gonna-kick-your-ass-for-this_ message.

Jordan burst into laughter, leaned in close, and kissed Lexie's cheek. "I'll just leave you two to talk. Catch ya later, Sis," she taunted. She was still laughing as she scampered through the family room, and out the back door.

_Fuck my life_, Lexie thought with a long sigh, as she sank down into the chair and glanced across the table into the expectant eyes of her mother, the shrink. Jordan would pay for this, she silently vowed. Oh, yes, she would.

* * *

_The Spencer-Rivera Beach House, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, April 21, 2029, 8:45 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time_

"Ooh… Owww!" Olivia grimaced. She tried to jerk her hand away, as she squirmed in her seat. But Natalia wouldn't release her.

"I told you not to move that table," Natalia gently admonished, as she cleaned and attempted to bandage a gash her wife had sustained as a result of a huge splinter from the bottom of one of the heavy wooden tables on Lena and Bianca's back deck.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Natalia," Olivia groused, earning that look from her wife. As usual, she promptly ignored it. "It's not like I had a heart attack!"

"You are not even remotely funny." Natalia's dour expression said she was anything but amused. She set the tube of antibacterial cream aside, and pulled a sterile gauze pad from the first aid kit that rested beside Olivia on the sofa.

"I'm a little bit funny, and you know it."

Natalia ignored the familiar retort, and dutifully opened the wrapper. "You infuriate me."

"You love me, anyway."

Natalia couldn't argue that. "Sit still," she commanded. "I can't get this bandage on." Lifting the role of surgical tape from the kit, she struggled to hold the pad in place while she tore off a strip of tape. "Help me hold this."

Pressing a finger to the center of the sterile pad, Olivia arched an eyebrow, a roguish grin on her lips. "I'll gladly sit still if you wanna put something else on me."

The insinuation in Olivia's tone made Natalia's belly stir with that familiar anticipation. Glancing up, she met Olivia's gaze. "You're incorrigible."

"So you've been telling me for the past twenty-some-odd years," Olivia countered. She leaned forward, the warmth of her breath teasing Natalia's ear. "So… you wanna?"

Natalia groaned. She could never bring herself to turn this woman down. "Of course I wanna," she answered, pressing the strip of tape across the center of the gauze. "But we're expected back at the cottage in less than an hour."

"I'll make it quick," Olivia tempted, nipping at Natalia's ear.

"When have we ever managed quick?"

"Remember that time in the elevator at the Beacon?" Olivia reminded. "We were finished before we reached the penthouse. And then we did it all over again. Twice, if I recall correctly."

Grinning, Natalia confirmed Olivia's recollection. "But we were fifteen years younger, I was pregnant and horny, and we started in our office," she reminded. She dropped the role of tape and box of gauze pads back into the kit, closed the lid, and latched it.

"Are you calling us old?"

"No, I'm calling us…"

Natalia looked chagrinned, as she contemplated the truth about their ages—at fifty-six and fifty-nine, respectively, she and Olivia were quickly nearing retirement, though neither of them was truly ready to slow down. "Never mind…"

Olivia laughed, and took Natalia's hand, pulling her from their living room sofa. Their eyes locked, sealing that familiar connection. "Trust me, Honey," she said, as she drew her wife into her arms, kissing her lightly. "I can still get you off quickly, if I'm feeling inspired."

A dark eyebrow vaulted, indicating her keen interest. "Are you feeling particularly inspired this morning?"

"Oh, you bet I am," Olivia grinned. "Now come on, Granny. Let's go get it on."

"Shut up, Olivia," Natalia muttered. She hated it when Olivia called her "Granny."

Olivia just laughed, as she tugged Natalia's hand.

And despite herself, Natalia couldn't stifle the grin that teased at the corners of her mouth, as she allowed her wife to lead her into their bedroom… for a quickie.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, they were naked, sweat-soaked, and panting, as Olivia drew Natalia's still-quivering body against her own. She pressed her lips against the damp tendrils that clung to Natalia's temple, as she waited for her own heart rate to slow.

Natalia responded by snuggling closer. "That was spectacular," she purred against the side of Olivia's breast.

Olivia smirked. "Told you I still had it in me," she crowed.

Rolling onto her belly, Natalia pressed her body firmly against Olivia's side, as she gazed into those gorgeous jade eyes. "I never doubted you for a moment."

"Oh, yeah?" Olivia sounded skeptical. "Then what was all that nonsense out there?"

"That was me getting what we both wanted," Natalia said with a knowing grin.

Olivia arched a questioning eyebrow, and Natalia smirked in response.

"You never back down from a challenge," she said. "So… I gave you a challenge—and I got the fastest orgasm you've ever given me, in exchange for my efforts."

Olivia's eyes widened and a hearty laugh broke across her face. "Oh, you are _so_ _bad_!"

Natalia squealed as Olivia's hands grasped her waist, expertly flipping her onto her back. Her eyes sparkled with laughter, as Olivia bolted her to the mattress. And then her laughter fell into a low groan of arousal, as Olivia lowered her body, covering Natalia's with her own. No matter how many times they had made love over the years, the sensation of their bodies coming together this way never ceased to take their breath away.

And then, disheveled chestnut locks fell forward, partially shrouding Olivia's face, as wordlessly, their lips met, mouths opening to one another in a slow, sensual kiss. By the time Olivia lifted her mouth from Natalia's, they were both dizzy with a fresh wave of arousal.

Liquid onyx met molten jade, each swirling with renewed desire. "This was supposed to be quick," Natalia whispered halfheartedly.

Lightly, Olivia nipped at a kiss-swollen lip. "Screw quick," she declared, as fingertips brushed Natalia's cheek. "Right now, I need to make love with my wife."

Delivered on a husky whisper, Olivia's declaration drew tears from Natalia's eyes. Taking Olivia's face in her hands, Natalia kissed her tenderly. "I really need that connection right now, too," she whispered. "I've missed you these past few days."

"I'm sorry I've been so busy," Olivia apologized.

"Between work, and the girls, we've both been busy," Natalia reminded.

"Well, we don't have to be busy with anything else but one another right now," Olivia whispered, as she brushed her mouth against Natalia's again. She was hard and wet with arousal, as she slid her center against Natalia's firm thigh.

Lightly, their tongues tangled, and Natalia whimpered, then groaned. "Yesss…" she hissed, as she felt the heat of Olivia's arousal, the unmistakable stiffness of that engorged clitoris, against her thigh, as Olivia moved against her. "God, Liv, you're so wet, so hard," she murmured against Olivia's mouth.

Tracing her tongue around the outer edge of Natalia's ear, Olivia gently nipped at the tender flesh. "You make me this way," she husked. "Every time I look at you… touch you… you make me crazy with want for you."

"Even after all these years?"

The emotion in Natalia's voice was palpable, and Olivia quickly met her gaze. "Always, N'talia," she whispered, her wife's name sliding from her lips with that soft lilt that always manifest during their most intimate moments. Lightly, she brushed their mouths together. "Always…"

And then slowly, leisurely, Olivia made love to her wife like she had so many times before. But even after twenty years, thanks to that indelible connection that had silently tethered their hearts together long before they ever touched, as always, it still felt like the very first time.

TBC in Chapter 5…


End file.
